


How I Love You / Comment Je T'aime

by ERD_Fiction



Category: South Park
Genre: Christophe (South Park), Christophe DeLorne (South Park), Gregory (South Park), Gregory of Yardale (South Park), M/M, Romance, Ze Mole (South Park)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-25
Updated: 2014-10-25
Packaged: 2018-02-22 10:48:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2505092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ERD_Fiction/pseuds/ERD_Fiction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Royal Academy has always been a fantastic yet confusing place. The students and faculty there are known to burst out into songs, anywhere from motivational up-beat tunes to heartbreaking and sorrowful ballads of the turkey dinner being too dry. It's kind of like starring in a Disney cartoon.  Late one night as the Academy closes, one of these ballads breaks out--between the golden-haired prince with the spirit of the revolutions he leads and the brunette who has been in love with him for almost eight years. The song? A romantic free verse confession.<br/>Let's see how this works out for them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How I Love You / Comment Je T'aime

**Author's Note:**

> Oh geeze I have to explain so much for this oh geeze I'm so sorry. I hesitated posting this online since it's not formatted like a typical fanfiction, but I spend so long on it that I decided I want to share it with people??? Worth a shot???
> 
> Since I was planning on doing this as a roleplay with someone initially, it's formatted in the style of a roleplay (which is why I hesitated to post it). With every break in the text, the POV changes. Hope it's not too confusing.
> 
> The whole story isn't here, obviously. This scene focuses on the big confession. If this goes over well and people are interested, I'll post more of their story maybe?
> 
> The basic premise is that Gregory is a prince who attends an academy that is strictly for royalty, and Christophe is his personal servant who has been devoted to him since Gregory saved his life as a child. If you have any more questions about it please ask me so I know what else I need to explain...!
> 
> [NOTE: All of the French was just done on Google Translate. You should be able to pop it right in and get a translation.]
> 
> But I've rambled too much. If I haven't lost you by now, please read on and I hope you enjoy!  
> /End Rant

By all accounts and purposes, he should be back in his dormitory by now, studying hard for the test that he has tomorrow at the crack of dawn. Honestly, spending time so late at school was foolish. Even the latest of the evening classes were ending, and the few souls left in the sizeable academy were packing up their things and clearing out.

All the same, he can’t bring himself to leave. Not quite yet.

Striding with his head held high and yet with not a single person there to watch or comment, he makes his way down the hallway. Though usually well-lit during the day and into the night, the brightness of the bulbs are lowered in the evening in order to conserve electricity, only to be shut off completely once the security locks up the place. The way they shine on the walls now gives the illusion of candlelight. And in the halls with the dimmest of lights, the bright shimmer of the stars and the borrowed sunlight bouncing off the nearly-full moon gives the area a brightness that one can see clearly in.

He dares to say it’s almost romantic.

He shakes his head. No. Lighting wasn’t romantic. It was poets who wrote those damn metaphors and sonnets and epics who made it romantic. It was not the lighting itself. It was not as if he were one of those fools who would consider such a notion. He hasn’t time for that. And yet as of late…

He stops, just in the doorway that leads to the middle hallway. From this grand staircase, you can practically access any part of the establishment you please, following hallways or opening the doors. The entire place was streaming with moonlight and imitation candlelight.

And yet as of late, things have been complicated. He would hardly care to admit it, but he keeps having those thoughts. _Those_ thoughts. Those damn thoughts. They relentlessly keep pestering him. He’s been distracted lately because of them, a sensation he has never before fully experienced up until now. And it’s all because of that organ in his chest pumping his blood. No, no, it wasn’t that. There he goes again, using fool’s terms to describe his feelings. Emotions were controlled by chemical reactions in the mind; even he knew that. Not the thundering or the beating of his heart.

He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair with a sigh. It really shouldn’t be that big of a deal. He has known of the man’s feelings for some time now. Even he, who was considered quite dense to such matters, had taken notice over the past few months of the habits that he has developed and perfected over years of serving him. Habits that he almost fears to say have been going on for a lot longer than just these past few months, and only now he has begun to notice. He never planned on confronting him about the man’s feelings; it was completely his own choice whether or not he chose to confess.

And yet...And yet lately, that damn feeling in his head or his heart begins to act up whenever he’s near him. And yet lately he has been almost daydreaming--daydreaming, in the middle of classes, in the middle of training!--about how _his_ own study habits have been so studious on top of his work and his chores and all the other tasks _he_ takes on, how _his_ smile seems to bring color to rooms of black and white, how _his_ eyes give him that bone-chilling look that get him every time.

It wasn’t wrong, he had to remind himself. It was completely acceptable--and if not, it certainly should be--for a man of his status and a man of _his_ status to have interest in each other. Clearly, this was no strange news to _him_. It isn’t wrong. But it’s...it’s new. And he needs time to think. Think of what he would say…

#################################################################

His prince wasn’t usually this late. This was what concerned him so much. He was very strict with his schedules, demanding to be right on time, even early if possible. It wasn’t unusual for him to step out of his own line and focus on something else, but this was always for someone else’s benefit, and it never happened as suddenly or as late as this. His prince was courteous in the sense that he never kept his servants--particularly him--guessing as to what he will be doing.

And so this unexplained tardiness was unusual. And so this was concerning.

He strides through the hallways, hardly glancing at the dim lighting or the picturesque way the moonbeams shines out of the windows. He has already spared all the time he can pondering the way this place can become so romantic when no one else is here. He has another task--a more important one. If he is in danger, if he is not in danger, whatever he is, he must find the prince. It has been his task since he was just around the corner from eleven, and it stands true as he inches further into his twenties.

His own strides through the hallway are calculated and swift, conscious of his feet to make sure they didn’t accidentally scuff the inside of his ironed-this-morning pants, his own head higher than he usually holds it when he is off duty. It was ironic, really; when he was slouched over and in a different set of clothes, his prince hadn’t even recognized him.

He won’t go into how much that had torn him apart.

It was in the past. He shook his head and kept himself moving forward. There were far more important things than feelings that would never be returned and the misery of a boyhood crush that had lasted far longer than intended. He doubts that the man he was searching for could get in that much trouble on his own in this school. Then again, he wouldn’t exactly put that past him. And so he must search on the off chance that he does.

Finally, he spots him in the main grand staircase, where all the lights were dimmed down to their lowest setting and yet the beams streaming through the windows perfectly lit up the area. He is about to approach him, but he stops before he can enter view, and just...stares. There were days he couldn’t get this man out of his head, and yet there were still days where he forget just exactly how _beautiful_ he is. With his clear blue eyes distantly staring out the windows above bright as ever, with his flaxen hair ever so slightly windswept from the breeze in the courtyard he had had lunch in this afternoon, with his entire body glowing in the beams of the moon coming down upon him, he looked precisely like the angels that the ancient texts described.

All at once, those feelings he forces himself to keep under lock and key spring out all at once. Before he can be spotted, he ducks behind one of the columns that line the doorway he had stepped through, face flushing, heart racing, eyes wide. He leans against it, suddenly feeling short of breath as if he had just run for a while. His prince unfortunately had that effect on him.

This had to stop. He knew it better than anyone else. The more he chased after him, the more he all but begged and pleaded for his affections, the more he’d even pray for him to notice him, the more his prince seems to ignore the possibility of experiencing something more with his servant. His prince, he called him. He was hardly his prince. He was the prince that he belonged to, but the prince did not belong to him. He knew in the end, he knew that his affections would only cause him pain, and in the end he could not only lose the man as a potential lover, but as his closest and longest-running friend.

He dares to glance up at him again, peeking around the column. The man with the crown of golden hair that was more regal and beautiful than any actual headdress kept staring up at the ceiling, looking like one of the portraits of war heroes they hang in the hallways of the Academy. He lets out a sigh. Could he really be blamed…? When Apollo descended in front of you, what can you do but blindly adore and worship him?

But even still. This had to stop. He either had to get over himself, or...or he would have to confess everything to him. The thought alone caused his heart to stammer in his chest and his mind to shut down, both the English and French language being cut off from his brain. He sucked in a breath and hid back behind his column.

He could do it. He should do it. It was the right thing to do, and it would only help in the healing process. Besides, his prince was fond of honesty. He just...he just needed time to think. Think of how he would say it. What he would say. What he would admit to. He just needed to...think of what he would say…

#################################################################

It was never really clear to the students in the school whether it was only those involved who could hear the music as those damn numbers began to play. Gregory always believed that everyone could hear them, since at certain points, the entire school seemed to be bursting out with his outcries for justice and his plights and musical numbers for truth. And yet if that were the case, wouldn’t there always be music in this place? It seemed like every other moment, some soul was bursting out into song. And for another matter, who was the mysterious band of people that always seem to have the instruments or the background vocals for things?

Such things have vexed Gregory ever since he had entered into this Academy. Not that he was complaining about the musical numbers--his own voice, he’d like to think, was quite a treat to hear sometimes, and he couldn’t lie and claim he wasn’t fond of showing it off.

He hears one of those random tunes now. The gentle sounds of a soft melody coming from a grand piano fill the air. You’d think it would echo around the great hall with the poor acoustic quality it had, but instead it fills the whole air, like the background track to a movie or music playing right in someone’s ears. The words come to him effortlessly. They always have. He has never questioned what he sings about or why. Oftentimes it was a rally cry to the people he wished to convince, songs that fill the hallway and are sung when the crowd is right behind him. Other times, it was just letting loose some anxieties that he has been bottling up lately, when the place was empty and he wouldn’t be risking anyone listening. This time, it became clear that it was the later.

“ _I was never all that fond of needless adoration…~_ ” He steps forward, fully into the half circle that looked over the grand staircase, staring out as if addressing a crowd, though his eyes fall on no one.

“ _I always argued that revolution was my passion…~ _” He traces the banister absentmindedly with his fingers. It was. It always had been. It was his major. It was his one true love. It was his entire life, he would go so far to claim. He had never needed anything more than to throw himself into the right cause and to buckle down and study about politics and lead rallies and using his authority for the greater good. That’s what he had always believed.__

Yet recently, things have been changing. And yet...and yet…

“ _And yet it seems all that fades away~_

“ _When I lay my eyes on you…~_ ”

And yet _he_ was in his life. And he had always been there. And now he couldn’t get that Frenchman out of his head, and it infuriated and frustrated and excited him.

#################################################################

He can tell it was coming before the music even comes on. It’s always at these times, when he is desperately groping around to contain his feelings and when he is alone and--dare he say?--vulnerable that these flashes always come on. And so when the keys are struck and the notes fill the air, he takes another deep breath. Long ago, he used to resist joining along vehemently. Now, he simply submitted to it; he has no idea how he would manage to get by if he didn’t get out all the feelings he kept bottled. And this seemed like the best, and often the only, way that he could do it.

At least he has always managed to recite his feelings through song in his own native language. Even if anyone were to hear him, there were few who would actually understand his words. Even still, as he leans against the column, he keeps his vocal chords as a mere murmur under his breath, conscious of the blonde’s presence. He’s been catching on to his French recently, and Christophe had to remember to be careful.

At the same time, he doesn’t even think to resist to the words flooding his mind.

“ _Je ne suis pas très friands d'adoration inutile…~_ ” The words come spilling out as if they had been practiced dozens of times before. He has no idea if his voice was even any good to listen to. Half the people in this place sang almost constantly like canaries and yet their notes were flat if they weren’t off-key, or their voice was just downright awful. It was probably better that he didn’t find out. It was probably better that no one else heard.

“ _Jusqu'à ce que je vous ai rencontré, et tout semblait au changement…~_ ” And it had changed. Everything he had known and everything he was familiar with had changed when the blonde came into his life. That was when his heart first started beating. That’s when his eyes were opened to how beautiful the world could be and how perfect the people in it could be if you just gave them a chance. That’s when he finally had a reason to live.

That’s when he found a reason to love.

“ _Et maintenant, il semble que j'ai attendu toute une vie~_

“ _En attendant pour vous…~_ ” A lifetime wasn’t much of an exaggeration. How long has he kept to his prince’s side? Eight years? Nine? How many times has he tried to impress him only to run into a wall? His praise meant the world to him, and yet at the same time when the warm hand of friendship slapped him in the face again, everything came crashing down. If only he’d notice, just once. If only he knew that he would do anything for him--anything to make him happy.

If only he knew.

He doesn’t dare step away from the column. It was bad enough that he was quietly serenading the man one and a half flights of stairs above him. It would be worse if he could actually hear him. If he could see him. See the pathetic, lovesick look on his face and his flushed cheeks and the sad, tired look in his eyes. It wasn’t right of him to look at his prince like that. It just wasn’t right.

#################################################################

What was he even looking for from him? What did he desire from this man? He clearly wanted something from him. He wanted something so badly from him that he could scarcely get another thought in otherwise half the time, it seems. It would be so much easier if he knew what he was after--what that man who served him hand and foot since he was in middle school was after. It would be so much easier if he knew what he wanted…!

He frowns, closing his eye, thinking. He wants...he wants him by his side. That much was clear. He wants to know he won’t leave. He wants their skin to press together and his hand in his own like they used to do when they were children. He wants to feel his breath on his ear as he whispers those teasing French phrases in his ears as he used to do all of middle school. He wanted to be able to pull the other man close and let out all of his woes and fears as he’s always been able to do but has neglected to consider since they entered high school. He wants him to murmur all those phrases that he thought about whenever he looked at his constant companion--how he’d never leave him. How he would care for him for him to the end of time if need be. How he might even…

He shakes his head with a smirk, a light blush dusting his face. “ _It really is a needless demonstration…~_ ” he continues to murmur. And it really was. He doesn’t need it. Not as badly as he keeps telling himself that he does.

“ _Really it is, for those words to fall from your lips...~_ ” He opens his eyes and looks out again. The words run through his head over and over again, _his_ voice murmuring them over and over again in his ear. I need you. I want you. I will follow you to the edge of the world and back. I adore you. I...I…

Maybe he was desperate to hear him speak.

“ _Your voice can carry all those little things~_

“ _I wish I didn’t need for you to say…~_ ”

He steps away to the banister and steps up to the very edge of the staircase, standing at the corner, eyes back to the sky, looking at the moon as if it could somehow give him all the answers when it was just a huge circle of rock in the sky. He really wishes he didn’t need to hear those words from his mouth as badly as he did. He really wishes he could convince himself that the universe did not revolve around Christophe DeLorne.

Except at the moment, it seems like it really did.

#################################################################

“ _Oh combien j'ai besoin de cette démonstration…~_ ” Christophe, on the other hand, has known what he has needed for the longest time. He has known since he lay on the concrete ground in the corner of the fence staring up at the boy prince who had saved his life all those years ago from snarling muzzles and snapping teeth. It drove him insane, through the desires and impulses he has to suppress throughout the day, to the dreams that woke him up in the middle of the night wishing to fall back into a deep sleep and never wake. It continued onto the way their hands might accidentally brush and the sensation would stay with him all day, to the way he would quietly whisper his name into the pillow case or the shower curtain, desperately trying to refrain himself from thinking of the man while doing such a vile deed but unable to resist temptation at its finest.

“ _Juste pour entendre ces mots de toi mon amour…~_ ” He needed those words. He needed him to be held in his arms that were more of a castle than any he’s ever stayed in before and for him to whisper nothings into his ears that were softer than feathers and sweeter than sugar, to feel his lips against his skin and his hand in his hair as he makes up for all the years that he has been longing for him…

He inches out of his spot, just to steal another glance at the prince bathed in moonlight. He takes in every detail he can make out of him. Just a few moments ago, getting him home in a timely manner seemed to be the only thing on his mind. Now, his mission seemed to be to memorize exactly how he looks tonight.

“ _Et pour seulement un instant que je pourrais faire semblant ces mots ont été pour moi...~_

“ _Je tiens à vous entendre dire…~_ ”

If he could only hear those words from him one. If he could just hear him whisper those nothings and even make himself believe they were for him. He wishes he didn’t need it as badly as he did. He really wishes he could convince himself that the universe did not revolve around Prince Gregory Yardale.

Except at the moment, it seems like it really did.

#################################################################

“ _How I love you...~_ ”

He takes a step down the staircase, letting the verse come out as a relieved sigh. There. He admitted it. It was off his chest. It was in the air, in the open. All he wanted, all he could think about for the past few weeks, was how much he just needed to hear the brunette with the stone-colored eyes confess his feelings to him.

It was a lot easier to admit than he first thought.

#################################################################

“ _Comment Je t'aime…~_ ” he sighs under his breath, still leaning against the column, letting the cool marble comfort him. It was something he had thought of many a times before. Words that he had released through whispers in the hallway when he was on the opposite side, through ballads that he had hummed in his foreign tongue when no one bothered to listen, through the almost silent gasps on those nights fewer than blue moons where he went to bed with damp eyes and an aching heart (due to their rarity he would never admit to them actually happening; this never stopped them from actually happening).

He wished so often that he would come into his room on those nights and speak those words to him. He has resigned trying to convince himself that his feelings are passing. Now he needs to just convince himself that he doesn’t truly need this man’s affections.

Not surprisingly, it isn’t working.

#################################################################

“ _You make my knees grow weak…~_ ” He takes another step down the stairs, holding hard onto the banister. Damn, just the thought of hearing these words from him made the marble stairs shudder beneath him, throwing him off-balance. He really needed to find a way to remedy this situation. Surely he can’t be walking down the hallways and having the entire mass of the world beneath him shift away all at once. Were his fellow members of the royal families to see him fall, they’d know he was not falling simply due to a stumbling step.

#################################################################

“ _Vous faites mes genoux faiblissent…~_ ” His head ducks, leaning further against the column as the image of the man bathed in moonlight overcomes him again and gravity pulls strongest in the particular spot where he stands. Even with years of training himself to stand straight and look him in the eyes, there were times where he could scarcely stand to look at him. If only his prince were to feel the same way. If only the world would shatter beneath him and leave him on unstable ground just as the world shattered beneath Christophe.

#################################################################

“ _I need you…~_ ” He takes another step down. It never occurred to him just how much it meant to him until this point for his servant to rely on him. But it truly did. For just as much as the brunette man needs him, he needs the brunette man. He always has. He’s as constant as the shine on his shoes straights and the As on his report cards and the dawn turning to day, to the extent where he feels as though this man went off and polished his shoes every hour on the hour and that he would write the reports himself and that he woke up in the dead of night to hoist the sun into the sky. Gregory forgot to pack his own underwear the weekend he was off on his own, for God’s sake…!

And yet how badly could he need Gregory? His hand comes up and clutches over his heart--damn, he was still such a fool for worrying over this sort of nonsense. Yet he couldn’t help it. Would he ever hear that voice speak those words, the voice with such a heavy French accent that he works so hard to hide in his presence?

Gregory needs _him_ to need Gregory. And he needs to hear those words so badly.

#################################################################

“ _J'ai besoin de vous…~_ ” He brings his head back up, gazing at the ceiling. All the things he has admitted to in the past--the feelings that he has for the man with the commanding voice and charismatic grin, the fact that he needed him as much as he does, all those things that make his chest ignite as though an arsonist had shoved a gas pump in his mouth and poured until they could light a match on his hair and he would be set ablaze--all he could ever desire would be to hear that his prince needed him as much as he needed his prince. That possibly the prince was in flames, too.

Of course it could never happen. The prince had so many other needs. Causes. Revolutions. Patria. Alliances, friendship, a servant that wasn’t blinded by the hearts in his eyes. Of course his prince could never need him the way he always has. Of course.

#################################################################

“ _My breath catches at the sight of your eyes…~_ ” He takes another step down, perfectly in time with the beat that filled the room around him and yet only he seemed to hear. He never found gray to be a very attractive color. It was a rather dismal one, one that reminded him of stormy skies and smoke-filled air and to the ashes of a deceased flame. Yet his eyes of shale were warm. Radiant. Expressive, when you caught him in those moments where he was filled with the sort of passion that for a long time only Gregory felt like he was capable of. And he has found that, as all of these little things about his servant become clear, his lungs are tightened as though twisted with twine as he makes eye contact.

He has taken precautions in order to not have it show. He couldn’t have his peers discovering things about himself before he was able to catch up. And certainly he wouldn’t dream of having the man with the warm eyes figure it out until he knew what he needed to say. What he needed to hear.

#################################################################

“ _Mon souffle attrape à la vue de vos yeux…~_ ” He shakes his head slightly, as if to rid it of the pink that tinges his cheeks. He feels no better than the women in the long and elegant dresses with their high-pitched gossiping and their fawning and ogling eyes, the way he thinks of his eyes. But he was just as enamored by them as the entire school was, because, goodness, they were absolutely _beautiful_ , just like everything else about him was. Vibrant and filled with light even in the darkest of times. Contagious in the sense that once you caught sight of his eyes your own spirits seem to life and your heart races with new life and nothing can bring you down.

If only he had those kinds of eyes. It was a sad thought, one that he scoffed at each time he thought of it, but it was one that kept coming back. If only his own dull stone eyes were those kinds of eyes. The kind that make you stop and wonder how anything on this planet could be so lovely and bright. Eyes that make you feel like you’re standing in front of a fireplace. If only he had those kinds of eyes, perhaps his prince would spare a second glance.

#################################################################

“ _My darling...~_ ” He descends another step. “ _My beautiful...~_ ” And another. “ _My everything...~_ ” And a third. Was this the confession that he has been building up to all this time, or a wish list for his desires, he had to ask himself over and over again? Pet names he usually could not tolerate, suddenly being used in the context of addressing the Frenchman who smelled of smoke and soap and forests. Those nicknames being whispered into his ear, coming from that very same Frenchman.

The thought sends a shiver down his spine, a sensation that is not as unwelcome as he first thought. Both, he would say, both a confession and a wish list. Both, he would say, to be echoed in this empty entrance and to be practiced until they were ready to be applied. At least, that’s what he kept convincing himself. He’ll find the words to say, he knows he will. He just needs time to think when his thoughts aren’t drowned out by the whispering voices he hallucinates in his ears giving him the words to say...

Perhaps this is becoming a tad pathetic. Surprisingly, he doesn’t find himself to have the ability to care.

#################################################################

“ _Mon chéri~_ ” He’d love to be.

“ _Mon beau~_ ” He longs to be.

“ _Mon tout…~_ ” He’d do anything in the world to be. Just for the man so high up on his pedestal to take just a moment to look down and consider these things as he looks him in the eye would be enough to satisfy him for half a lifetime--a second glance would be enough for the rest of his span on earth. He stands himself up straight, trying to chide himself for being so weak and desperate but not finding it in him to care. These were his moments alone, his moments to confess to all that he desires and to throw off some of the weight on his chest before it accumulated to the point where he can no longer stand straight.

His prince’s gentle voice, smooth as honey as it drips into his ears and calls him “beautiful”. He sucks in a breath in a desperate attempt to get air back into his lungs. It hardly works.

#################################################################

“ _I would take the stars from the night sky for you…~_ ” He takes another step down, reaching the small landing that comes between the previous set of stairs and the rest of the case. He would, he admits in silence as he strides across the landing in room completely empty of anyone to listen. He would gather the crystals dotting the night sky and the golden rays gliding from the sun and the lights that line the streets of Paris for him if only he could hear that _he_ would do the very same.

#################################################################

“ _Je voudrais prendre les étoiles du ciel de la nuit pour vous…~_ ” He glances over his shoulder, slowly inching out of his hiding spot and staring up to where his prince stood tall over the grand hallway. When he doesn’t see him at the top anymore, he steps away from the column and leans out, risking being in sight in the hopes of seeing him again and in the hopes that he hasn’t dashed off somewhere for him to chase after. But no, he stands just as tall and just as proud on the second landing.

How could you impress a man who puts infernos to shame with diamonds stolen from the sky that dull in his presence? How could you ever expect that man to do the same for you?

#################################################################

A movement catches his eye. His gaze is brought down and suddenly, he finds himself staring directly into the dark eyes that cause him to melt at the gaze. He hopes his face doesn’t heat up as much as it feels like it does as he looks him right in the eye. He hopes it just as much as he hopes that his grip doesn’t tighten noticeably on the banister just to keep himself upright and steady.

“ _And if I had the courage to say…~_ ” he continues, only a tad quieter, as if though he can’t bear to be heard and yet he wishes he weren’t so fearful.

Christophe DeLorne.

Someday he would find the words he needed for him.

Maybe tonight would be the night...

#################################################################

And suddenly he is looking right down at him, with a flushed face and eyes that seemed to glow even more than usual in the moonlight. He sucks in a breath, shoving his hands into his pockets--a nervous habit he has gotten into to hide how they start to tremble in his presence if he isn’t careful. Despite the desire to run, he remains where he is. It was too late; he was caught. He might as well accept whatever happens next.

Besides, he can’t resist watching him glow.

“ _Et si j'avais le courage de dire…~_ ” he echoes, hugging the column as he takes another bold step out of his hiding spot.

Gregory Yardale.

He always knew there would come a day where the prince finally confronted him about his impossible emotions.

Maybe tonight would be the night...

#################################################################

“ _I would say you take my breath away…~_ ” he continues, just for a moment bringing his hand over his heart before letting it drop again. Even as the lyrics come out clearly, the breathes he takes are deep, as if his lungs are depleting and he can’t seem to find enough air to refill them.

#################################################################

“ _Je voudrais vous dire que vous enlevez mon souffle…~_ ” he echoes quietly, sliding further out of his hiding spot while keeping his gaze even with his prince’s. Gregory’s vocal chords have been described as the vocals of the angels. As it is, finding the air to reply, let alone the words, is always so difficult when Gregory’s words and voice are still ringing out as he attempts to speak.

#################################################################

“ _But instead I wait from a distance…~_ ” he murmurs, turning more towards Christophe as the servant brings himself more into view. He finds he can’t help but smile down at him as he sings. All the questions, all the emotions, all the confessions seem to bubble just beneath the surface. Why was it so much harder tonight than any other night to keep these things from him? If only he knew how to say it…! He’d sweep the man into his arms and off his feet and find all the right words to convince him to remain by his side forever, not as the servant that he was, but as…!

But no. He must be patient. It wouldn’t be right of him to rush into things, to force this man into a corner and pour all all of these burdens onto him. If only he did not have to wait to admit everything to this man...

“ _Waiting to say…~_ ”

#################################################################

“ _Mais au lieu que j'attends d'une distance…~_ ” He finally pries himself off the column, drawn by the grin on the face that put the beauty of the gods to shame. He could just let him know now. He could just whisper it to him now. He was part of this too--this musical number they find themselves trapped in. And with his echoing words, he could finally get everything off his chest…

He knows he has to wait. He knows he may never get the chance to say all the things he needs to. But he truly wishes that he did not have to. He could just stride forward and take him into his arms, and he could convince him…

“ _En attendant de dire…~_ ”

#################################################################

“ _How brilliant I find you…~_ ” he continues, stepping down the stairs. Yes, he would wait for his confession to come full-force to him. But all the while...there was no harm in sharing a number together. His fellow students and teachers participate in them all the time, and as it was none of them were there to witness this. Besides, it wasn’t as though either of them would know what was going on in the other’s mind as they exchanged sweet nothings. Wrong place, wrong time, right mood…

And perhaps, just maybe, it would relieve him of the burden weighing down in his chest and he could properly focus again. There was nothing to fear here. Nothing at all. Here, now, he could say what he needs to, he could practice his words and feel his way around what he was going to say.

Christophe won’t mind in the least. He hopes.

#################################################################

“ _Comment brillant je vous trouve....~_ ” he echoes, striding forward one slow and small step at a time. It only occurs to him now that he has simply been repeating Gregory’s own words in his own native tongue. He should be concerned about the blonde discovering what he was actually trying to say. And yet if he wasn’t the one to come up with the thoughts, there was no harm to it, was there?

And for that matter, why was Gregory expressing these sorts of desires and emotions? It wasn’t as if...no, it couldn’t be. He was just letting his imagination go again. They were both caught in the moment. That was all. And yet at the same time, he finds that he wasn’t afraid to raise the volume of his voice, letting the words spill out and into the air for Gregory to hear.

Perhaps someday he will find the courage and the strength to truly admit all of this to his face in a language his prince would understand.

#################################################################

“ _You are the sunshine to my cloudy day…~_ ” How absolutely cliche of him to say as he continues to walk down the stairs and towards him. How completely unoriginal. How undoubtedly true it was, how just a smile or a wink or a nod could make even the most dismal of days seem just a tad better.

#################################################################

“ _Vous êtes les rayons de soleil à ma journée nuageux…~_ ” He steps forward, his voice growing a little louder, a little more confident, keeping his eyes locked on him, hoping that he doesn’t look as captivated as he feels. How could he ever have a day of clouds and storms when the embodiment of the brightest star in the daytime sky was in his presence?

He makes it sound like being in love with him is so miserable. Complaining about it, sighing over a lost cause, wistfully dreaming of what could never be, he made it seem as if there was nothing to look forward to. And there were lows, plenty of them. But as many lows as there might be, there always seemed to be two high points to make up for it. A hair he gets to tuck back into place, a proud smile, a kind word, a squeeze of the shoulder. To be in love with the man was to be on a roller coaster--one that seemed to keep going up and never actually come all the way back down. And throughout it all, he could scarcely find it in himself to regret a moment of it. If anything, he kept finding more reasons to come back.

#################################################################

It only occurs to him now as he is getting closer that Christophe is participating as well. His voice rings clearly through the air in the tongue that Gregory can only make bits and pieces out of. It never occurred to him how rich and full and even lovely his voice actually was. Of course he’s heard this man sing before, and yet not like this. Not like now. Not while the language of romance dances off his tongue in a delicate and soothing manner that makes the descent down the shifting stairs just a little bit more difficult.

“ _You are more charming than any other man I have known…~_ ”

And all at once he is at the bottom and right in front of the one he desires more than anyone else.

#################################################################

“ _Vous êtes de plus charmant que tout autre homme que j'ai connu…~_ ” It was so easy and effortless to let the words come out of his mouth, inspired by the enchanting verses of the man singing in his own tongue. At the same time, he couldn’t help but hear the difference in Gregory’s voice. There was the confidence he always had, there was the passion he always possessed. And yet these words weren’t cried out to rile the spirits of the crowd. These words were soft. Gentle. He daresay they were almost meaningful.

And suddenly finds himself in front of the staircase and face to face with the prince whom he had fallen for all those years ago.

#################################################################

“ _You’re the thief who has stolen my heart…~_ ” he murmurs to him, stepping close and daring to bring a hand up to his face to stroke his cheek. The sensation alone is driving him insane. How is he going to find a way to avoid this when this was all said and done…?

#################################################################

“ _Tu es mon ange…~_ ” he murmurs just as softly, pulling a hand out of his pocket and bringing it up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind the blonde’s ear as he has longed to do since he had started high school with him. No longer echoing his words, all he can think to describe is the way the moonlight encases him and gives him an appearance that was far beyond his comprehension. The way the beams fall from the windows on the ceiling, it gives the illusion that there were in fact a pair of wings behind him, the way the light hits off his hair imitating the halo above his head perfectly.

#################################################################

“ _And I never want it back…~!_ ” His hand stays on his face, cupping his cheek gently in his hands, while his other travels down to his waist. Christophe could keep his heart, keep his mind, keep the turmoil of emotions that continue to send his mind in three different places at once and make his chest feels as though it’s going to cave in. He could have all of that if only he would realize that he could, if only Gregory could let him know that he would be the keeper to Christophe’s heart if Christophe would only care for his.

#################################################################

“ _Vous êtes mon épargne grâce…~!_ ” His other hand slides out of his pocket and onto the man’s shoulder, the other one overlapping the hand on his tanner face, closing his eyes and basking at the feeling. Heroes exist, and they exist in the form of charming men with hearts of gold and pure souls who save the lives of dozens despite the way they are dressed or the fact that their face is covered in grit and grime or the fact that he had hated him up until that one moment in his life. He owes so much to Gregory, so much that he could never ask this of him.

Which is why, while he is safe under the protection of the soft strum of piano keys and the false promises whispered into the air, he must make the most of these precious moments.

#################################################################

“ _You’re radiant and bold…~_ ” he tells him, his hand drawing away and lacing his fingers together with Christophe’s and bringing it down to their sides. “ _And I want to hold you in my arms so I can call you mine…~_ ” He sways back and forth with him, stepping in time with the smooth-tempo of the music that still rings in their ears. Let this keep going, he begs, let this never end, let me practice and practice these words I must tell him and let him practice the words he must tell me until we know precisely what we want to say.

#################################################################

“ _Vous êtes rayonnante et audacieuse…~_ ” he echoes, allowing his hand to be brought down and letting their steps sway with the music. “ _Et je tiens à vous tenir dans mes bras pour que je puisse vous appeler le mien…~_ ” Let him always look at me with those eyes that seem to adore, he silently pleads. Let him remain in my arms like this just for a little while longer, let us forget about our troubles and just keep our arms around each other. Let those words continue to flow out of his mouth and into my ears and cause my heart to spasm.

Let him live this dream just a little bit longer. Let him believe for just a little bit longer that his angel feels this way.

#################################################################

“ _I get lost in your eyes…~_ ” And he could continue to do so for hours. Forget his desires and the causes he fights for just for a day. Forget about the rest of the world for a month. Toss away the map in his hands and just let him plunge into the swirling tides of shale and ash and let himself navigate aimlessly for ages. Let him continue to sway as the heart of the maze comes closer and closer and let him never to dare searching for an exit.

#################################################################

“ _Je me perds dans tes yeux…~_ ” What was he even doing before he got caught up in the notes and lyrics around him? Does it even matter, when he can go traveling for days on end in the gaze that holds him and never once cross the path he has taken? Better yet, why would he ever choose to leave? Why would he ever turn around? Why would he want to return to his tasks or his duties when he can feel a hand in his and another on his waist and stare into the sky till he’s seeing the source of the stars?

#################################################################

“ _I await the day when I can find the words to say…~_ ” He stops swaying, letting go of his tanner hand and wrapping his arm around his waist to pull him close. He’s just an inch or two taller than Christophe, he notices, a difference that wasn’t easy to see in day to day interactions but was made clear when he was this close to him in his arms. Someday. Someday soon, he would know what he would want to say.

Someday he would tell him...

#################################################################

“ _Et j'attends le jour où je peux trouver les mots pour le dire…~_ ” he echoes, melting as they press closer together and blushing as suddenly he finds his lips closer than ever and his arms around him. He rarely thinks enough to wrap his own around the man’s shoulders, and yet when he does he keeps them firmly in place, as if to reassure himself that he will not be moving away anytime soon.

Someday, he would tell him...

#################################################################

“ _I need you…~_ ” he whispers, bringing a hand up to his cheek and stroking it gently.

#################################################################

“ _J'ai besoin de vous…~_ ” he murmurs right back, leaning into his hands and staring up at him with half-lidded eyes.

#################################################################

“ _I am the happiest I have ever been when I am with you…~_ ” he continues with a soft smile, his chest light as he pulls Christophe ever so slightly closer.

#################################################################

“ _Je suis le plus heureux que j'ai jamais été quand je suis avec vous…~_ ” He tenses as he is pulled closer with his face growing pink, but then presses into him, staring up at him with his dark and expressive eyes that say so much more than any smile could.

#################################################################

“ _You’re wonderful…~_ ” His hand lifts up and brushes some of his bangs off to the side. The gesture doesn’t accomplish much. He just felt the need to touch him again.

#################################################################

“ _Vous êtes merveilleux…~_ ” The grip tightens on the man’s shoulders. He stares up with disbelief and awe and perhaps even the love he is desperate to hide in his eyes.

#################################################################

“ _You’re perfect…~_ ” His hand trails down the side of his face all the way to his chin as he tilts Christophe’s head just a bit. His lips were so close, and though they have been tainted by cigarettes over the years, at this moment they had never looked so soft and sweet.

#################################################################

“ _Vous êtes parfait…~_ ” He seems to hold his breath for a moment as the hand trails down to his chin. Just a little bit closer, and he could finally do what he’s been wanting to do for almost a decade now…

#################################################################

“ _Je t’aime…~_ ” he finally murmurs, as the last of the chords ring out. Maybe that’s not quite what he feels for Christophe yet. Maybe it was too soon, too sudden, to call his feelings love. But he knows no words in English that would convey his meaning as well, and if the words exist in French or in any other language for that matter, he would not know them. And even if he did, how could he ever get Christophe to understand all that he is trying to promise with one short phrase? How could he possibly let him know all that was to come and all that will come? How could he tell him that he simply needed the time to learn the words, to learn the gestures, to learn what it was like to love, and then Gregory’s love could be his?

There were dozens of other ways to tell him, each more complicated and informal than the last. And so in a tongue that his servant--no, not his servant; he was someone much more than just that--in a tongue that _he_ understands with words that will get to him, he admits that there is something there. Something that Christophe could have if only he tried.

#################################################################

“ _I love you…~_ ”

The words he speaks are filled with more weight than he could ever put to words, even in the language most familiar to him. They were filled with all the days and weeks and months he has waited to say these words to his face, all the times he had murmured them out loud or spoke them in his thoughts or cried them in his brightest dreams and darkest nightmares. They are heavy with the commitment he promises, with the control he grants him, with all that he owed him, owes him, and will owe him, this man who rescued him and gave him a reason to keep surviving.

And probably most importantly, these words weren’t hidden deep within his own language. These words were spoken in Gregory’s tongue. As it to finally admit to him all that he was holding back. As if to say to him in a way he will understand what he is trying to say.

And, just like that, his confession has come out at last.

#################################################################

There is always a sense of disconnect after a number is completed. The time you have just lost hits you all at once. The way all those who hadn’t participated stare at you as if they haven’t a clue what’s going on. And half the time, you exit in a foggy state, as if you had only been partially aware of what you were in.

There neither a clock nor a crowd to put him off. But when the music fades out completely, he is overwhelmed with the feeling that he is coming out of a trance. He finds himself with a hand on Christophe’s waist and a hand under his chin with their lips inching closer and he can’t completely remember at first why it happened and how he ended up here.

The words come back to him slowly. All the things he had confessed to--confessed while Christophe was below and taking in each of his words as he sung them out, no less. All the ways he wanted him close, the ways he wanted to hold him, the ways that he just wanted Christophe to admit his feelings to him so that he could finally claim him as his own and figure out his own heart.

He had told Christophe he loved him.

All at once, his head pulls back, an uncharacteristic blush engulfing his face as he frowns, his grip growing limp. His mouth opens once as if to speak, but closes when he cannot find the words. For once, the man who is so eloquent and careful with each of the words he chooses to convince the masses is left speechless.

#################################################################

He is left with his mind spinning at the sensation of Gregory’s breath on his lips as the last chord rings out. As it finally does, the overwhelming silence hardly helps bring him to his senses before the gap between their lips can close. The feeling of disconnect still sets in slowly as he begins to realize his exact situation. But he is brought back immediately and all at once as he watches Gregory pull his head away, red in the face. His eyes widen at the look on Gregory’s face, still trying to piece together what is going on.

And then it hits him. As his face pales and his eyes widen and he freezes where he stands, it hits him. He was caught.

Panic overwhelms him. How could he have been so careless…?! How could he have allowed himself to release all of his pent-up emotions when he knew that Gregory was right around the corner…?! How could he have told him as he walked towards him, told him as he stepped closer, told him as he was right in his face, how could he have told him all the things he felt for him?! Hasn’t he been trying to hide these feelings for years?!

He had told Gregory he loved him…!

The terror doesn’t last long, but the panic does. Immediately, he rips out of Gregory’s grip and takes two steps back, putting a good foot of distance in between them--a respectable distance for a servant and his prince--and bows deeply to him in a show of respect that he has neglected up until this point, only partially to hide his heated face. He feels as though he is on the verge of three things: shaking like a leaf, breaking down into tears, and punching something in the face, either one right after the other or a combination of the three at the same time. Despite the fact that he wants so badly to escape he finds he is paralyzed in place, staring at him with a dumbfounded and still panicked expression on his face and searching for excuses he knows will never work.

“Je suis déso--I-I mean, I am sorry, Monsie--Sir. I-I am sorry, Sir, I ah...I was lookeeng for you and I found you ‘ere--here. I found you here a-and…” Though pale just a moment ago, as he begins to stammer out excuse after excuse, his face continues to grow redder as the words that had come gushing out of his mouth run through his head over and over again. How could he have said any of that…?!

#################################################################

Though he straightens up as Christophe pulls away from him, he does little to try to cool the heat in his cheeks or to hide the shocked expression on his face. As Christophe continues to stutter in a jumbled and heavily accented mix of French and English, Gregory finds he can only stand there and stare at him. Just a moment ago, this man had been in his arms, his voice murmuring sweet foreign phrases into his ears and his lips begging for attention they’ve been denied, and Gregory had been spilling out everything he has felt in these past few weeks for him to hear…

Wasn’t that all the things that he had wanted to get off his chest? Wasn’t this what he’s been trying to do for weeks? He hasn’t had a clue how to phrase what he wanted to say for the longest time, and yet all of a sudden in a romantic moonlit castle, the words had waltzed out of his mouth and into the air as the proclamation was made. What a fool he was, letting himself get caught up in musical numbers and calling such a scene romantic and pouring all the feelings he had pent up inside into a single musical number.

And the man in front of him had been doing the same.

“Christophe…” he manages. All those little sweet nothings in French, the ones that had gone right over his head and the ones he had understood to be echoes of precisely what he wanted to say…

#################################################################

No, no, no, this wasn’t good. This wasn’t good in the least. He was never supposed to find out. He wasn’t supposed to tell him, servants don’t just go and confess their love to their prince…! How could he have been so careless?! Stupid, stupid, imbécile…!

“L-Look, we just need to fo’get about zees--forget about this--eet was just another one of those dumb numbe’s zat we seeng--t-the car’s outside, Sir, we are very late, w-we should get going...Aaah, I just need un moment to find the keys, sil vou--pl-please, just a moment…!” Shit, his accent was coming out again. He wasn’t supposed to use such a thick and crude accent around him…!

He turns away from Gregory, hiding his embarrassed scarlet face as he desperately searches his pockets for his set of car keys. Of course, neither of them were going to just forget about this. Of course there was no way that they could just put this in the past. But he can hope, and he can beg, and he can even pray, and he can just pretend that Gregory Yardale meant nothing more to him than he should. He could go on pretending that all those words that had slipped out of the blonde’s mouth didn’t mean the world to him. He could go on pretending that that he hadn’t just confessed to him if only Gregory would let him pretend. He valued what they had between them now too much to ever jeopardize what they could have. And this is why he must keep pretending.

He finally finds the keys in his pocket and pulls them out, as if to further emphasize how they really need to get going. Or at least how much Christophe wants to get going. “Come on, Sir, ah, r-right zees way…!” He begins to walk off, begging that Gregory will not make a comment and follow him without question.

#################################################################

The more that Christophe trips over his words and tries to figure out what language to speak in, the more that Gregory finds it’s hard not to laugh. As it is, a smirk crosses his face as the man’s tongue is tied as the words exit his mouth. It was a little ridiculous, the lengths that Christophe went to in an attempt to hide his heavy French accent. It was almost sweet of him to try, though unnecessary. Maybe someday he would understand why this man was simply too afraid to be himself around him.

And here he was, thinking that he could simply turn around and offer Gregory a ride home and the entire thing drop. What an fool. Then again, Gregory isn’t one to talk. He’s found as of late he is quite the fool himself. It’s a development that he finds he isn’t minding as much as he thought he might.

Christophe could forget about them leaving anytime soon. There was quite a list of things to say, quite a list of things to do--one in particular that he intends to do as soon as possible. Crossing his arms and taking a firmer stance, he commands with a grin, “Christophe DeLorne, come back here this instant.”

#################################################################

“Oui, Si--Yes, Monsieur.” The response is all but automatic at this point. Already, he is turning on his heels and heading back to him. It’s become a habit over the years to simply follow his orders without thought. However, this time as he faces him with a red face filled with confusion and a good deal of fear, he manages to keep his steps slow as he approaches him, reluctant, as if with each step he takes he hopes Gregory will suddenly change his mind and let him escape while there was still time.

That is precisely what he hopes with each step. Alas, he is not stopped, nor is he told when to stop. And so he only brings himself to a halt when he is in front of Gregory, not quite within reach of him, feeling his pulse racing and his fists clenching and his legs getting weaker and weaker by the second.

#################################################################

The poor Frenchman looked absolutely terrified to be summoned back. It’s as if he believes he’s done something horribly wrong and it’s only a matter of time before he is scolded. Did he not hear his own voice loud and clear, he wonders? Or was he simply that insecure about his feelings for him?

Honestly. He supposes he’ll have to remedy this mentality immediately.

He stares at Christophe for a moment, taking in everything about him to his rust-colored face to the wide look in his ashen eyes to his uniform that was all but flawless save the few strands of fringe on his collar he neglected to rectify to the hard line his lips were making as if to forbid any other sounds from coming out. How ridiculous. How absolutely handsome. How perfect.

The gaze only lasts a moment. He hardly wastes any more time before he’s taking the final step to Christophe, uncrossing his arms and wrapping one around his waist, bringing his free hand up once again to tilt the brunette’s lips towards his own, just as he had done moments before. However, this time, the gap is closed, and the lips that taste like grit and sweetness and smoke and passion are finally against his own.

#################################################################

He did not expect this. That much was clear.

He had braced himself for the worst, preparing himself for a lecture. He was ready for whatever Gregory may shout at him. He would accept a backhanded slap to the face as he snarled that there wasn’t a single possibility that he would ever consider to stoop so low as to consider him more than a servant. He would accept the gentle hands on his shoulders as he explained that the spark wasn’t there and they must only remain friends. He could hide the fact that he was terrified and that his heart was trembling in his chest and threatening to break at a moment’s notice. What he hadn’t braced himself for was the feeling of the man’s lips against his own. He wasn’t prepared the man who could have his pick out of anyone in the whole world pulling him close and kissing him on the lips.

All at once he feels as though his entire body convulses, the keys in his hands clattering to the floor, his arms shooting up as if to shove him away but freezing mid-movement. His lungs clench up, and his eyes bulge as the man with the golden hair and the fairest of looks and the finest of souls presses his lips against him, lightly and warmly. He can feel his face reignite all over again, and his legs threaten to give out beneath him at any moment now should Gregory let go.

#################################################################

It’s a little disappointing to not feel the other man press his lips back into Gregory’s. But that’s what he gets for surprising him like that. Besides, it gives Gregory more time to focus on other things. Like how firm his lip were against his own and how his pulse was rising at a concerning rate and how if Christophe weren’t his anchor he would be swaying and slipping away. Thankfully, he manages to stand himself tall, keep himself proud, keep his lips against Christophe’s until he is satisfied--at least for the moment. Only then does he pull away to face the consequences of his actions.

He smiles at him, his teeth shimmering in the lights from the sky pouring down on them, a contrasting white against his rose-tinted cheeks. He can’t help but smile. With Christophe’s ruby face and his huge eyes and the way his mouth his half open in shock, it’s all he can do to keep himself from kissing the idiot again. When Christophe makes no move to make the silence--or at the very least if he does try to break it it ends up hardly resulting more than him opening and closing his mouth--Gregory takes the initiative to speak first.

“There,” he manages to say. “well, now at least that’s out of the way.”

#################################################################

He doesn’t even think to kiss back. His mind seems to draw a blank as he attempts to make sense of what is happening. When it finally begins to dawn on him what is finally going on, Gregory is pulling his lips away, leaving Christophe stranded once again lost without a map in Gregory’s gaze. He didn’t need a mirror in front of him to know his face was the shade of red you usually only find in artificially-flavored cherry lollipops. All he can think about is the feeling of Gregory’s lips against his own. He opens his mouth, trying to find the words to speak, only to close it again, realizing he can think of absolutely nothing to say to express just how confused he is and how the room is spinning left and right and he’s so dizzy he feels like he might vomit or pass out.

He hopes he doesn’t vomit. Not now. That would probably be the worst thing that he could do right now.

Gregory’s worse leave him even more confused. He squints at him for a moment, the words jumbling as they went in one ear and came out the other. English has always been confusing. But it would never be as confusing as it was when it came out of the mouth of this British prince.

“...quoi?” is all he manages to get out.

#################################################################

It was too much. It was all too much. Christophe’s reactions were adorable, really, whether he was trying to feign his ignorance or whether the dumbfounded expression on his face was truly genuine. He can’t help but laugh at his simple response, letting his forehead bump into Christophe’s. Damn, that song, damn that romantic and sappy song for getting to him, damn him for being so needy right now. Damn this warm and comforting feeling of having the Frenchman’s forehead press against his own.

“You’ve always considered my French atrocious,” he murmurs affectionately, opening his eyes to look at him with a rather amused expression. “Yet I’ve been catching on more than you’d believe as of late.”

#################################################################

The laughter might’ve chided him more if he wasn’t so distracted at the fact that Gregory’s forehead was resting against his own, wisps of their hair loosely intertwining with each other. He almost flinches away, but the feeling of the man’s skin against his own prompts him to stay. He stares with wide eyes as Gregory speaks.

...oh. Oh. Oh right. Oh, he had completely lost track of how many French classes Gregory has taken by now. Oh, he really should think things through more often. Oh, he really shouldn’t have said all those things this past year.

There are a dozen responses that come to mind, a dozen thing that would’ve been useful to say or would’ve actually helped his situation. Yet in the end it was clear that he had but one response that would actually squeeze out.

“...oh.”

#################################################################

He rolls his eyes at the man’s response, bringing his head away for a moment to look at him properly. For all of the things you could compliment in Monsieur DeLorne, he certainly had his flaws. He brings a hand up to the man’s hair and gives it a little ruffle, enjoying the feeling of his hair in between his fingers. “Monsieur, vous êtes certainement ridicule quand vous voulez être,” he teases.

#################################################################

The hand in his hair and the French rolling off the Englishman’s tongue shouldn’t have caused him to stumble and sway the way they did. All the same, with everything on the planet overwhelming him at once, he finds he scrambles to take a step back to steady his balance, his breath catching in his throat in the most embarrassing of manners.

He was never going to live this down, he was sure of it.

#################################################################

Gregory’s grin falters as the brunette sways in his grip. He stumbles forward trying to keep him upright, only to find Christophe has kept himself steady. His weight is already shifting towards him, and before he knows it, the two of them are falling to the floor, lacking both beauty and grace. Letting out a small yelp, his arms throw out towards the floor below him to brace himself and to prevent himself from crushing the man beneath him completely. The fall is slightly broken, though not without sharp pains jolting up his arm and a soft involuntary grunt.

#################################################################

He could’ve held himself up just fine on his own. But as per usual, Gregory just had to be the hero. Far too helpful for his own good. And so the two are sent down to the marble floor, only padded slightly by the Persian rug on top of it. He lets out a groan of pain as his back hits the ground hard, feeling the wind being knocked out of him as half of the other man’s body weight ends up on top of him. He tries to sit himself up, only to find that he hardly props his arms underneath him before finding resistance in the form of a torso and a head of golden hair. Once again, he was face to face with the man he has wanted so badly since he was a child and continues to want even more badly now that he is practically a man. This time, however, he was even closer than he was before.

#################################################################

He shakes his head a little before looking down at Christophe, staring into his eyes of smoke and shade. There should be a switch that allows you to control just how often your face heats up and a second one to untie your tongue when it is knotted up in the most inopportune of moments. How embarrassing, to have his face light up as often as it has tonight, how absolutely embarrassing.

He stares down at him, still partially lying on top of him, taking in the rough texture of his hair to the beige shade of his skin to the way his eyes dare him to make another move, his eyes at last resting on the lips that he could lean down and reclaim at a moment’s notice. He feels the body beneath him and considers just how easy it would be to just let his arms give out and to rest his head against his chest. He envisions a scenario where their arms wrap around one another in a tight embrace and their lips attract to one another and remain cemented together until the moon dips past the horizon.

He’s been getting carried away lately as well. He really needs to work on that. And this damn atmosphere certainly wasn’t helping.

Hardly managing an uncharacteristically sheepish smile, he tries to speak with his carmine face and tripping tongue and blanking thoughts. “Ah, I’m terribly sorry, Christophe, I-I hardly meant for this to happen. Honestly, I, I should’ve been more prepared, I…”

#################################################################

Christophe meets his eyes and holds his gaze even, frowning as the man’s face darkens even further, conscious of the way the sky-colored eyes flick up and down him, observing him and searching for things he doesn’t quite understand. And then the man above him speaks.

Christophe blinks. He listens to this angel awkwardly trail off.

And all at once, he is bursting out laughing.

#################################################################

It was so sudden that he jumps at the burst of sound beneath him. There had been a bit of a warning, with the slight smirk crossing his face as he stammered to get some form of a sentence out, but the laughter itself hadn’t been indicated by anything up until this moment. Gregory stares down at Christophe, wondering if Christophe is just as confused with him as he is with Christophe.

#################################################################

It had started with the slightest tugging of the corners of his mouth, to a full-on smirk, to the sudden build-up and the final burst that had resulted in him going into a fit of laughter. There he goes again, trying to act just as confident and smooth as always, attempting to slip his mistakes and his falters through so people won’t draw attention to him. Never in his life had he seen this man so flat-out embarrassed and unable to uphold his regal and royal persona. And despite himself, he can’t help but crack up. He was far from reassured or relaxed at this point, but it beyond relieving to see that Gregory appears just as flustered as Christophe feels.

“Ah, Gregory,” he murmurs, bringing a hand up to rub his eye to wipe away a tear he hadn’t even realized he had in it until now. “You are seemply too much.”

#################################################################

Clearly, Christophe can find humor in the situation that Gregory is not yet able to grasp. He watches the man underneath him split his side, still grinning shyly down at him. Slowly, his breathing catches, letting out a snort, then a small huff, and finally, one laugh after another, he joins in. The two of them were acting so ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. Perfectly ridiculous.

“I suppose I am,” he admits in between bouts. Still laughing, he sits himself up, stands up, and steps off of the man, bending down with a smile stretching from ear to ear as he offers the Frenchman a hand.

#################################################################

He shakes his head as Gregory begins to laugh as well, only pausing from his laughter to take a deep breath as the weight is lifted off his chest. When the hand is offered, Christophe takes it without question, the last of his laughter dying down as he stands tall again. Yet he can’t find it in himself to take the smile off of his face.

#################################################################

The Frenchman’s smile was too often underrated. There was some sort of quality to it, some sort of inner radiance to it, that was over-looked to a shameful degree. Perhaps it was because his smiles were so rare that no one fully appreciated them. Perhaps since no one appreciated them the brunette smiles less and less. This was a true shame, for if he had to pick out a single image for pure happiness, it would have to be Christophe DeLorne displaying all of his ivory teeth with laughter and joy in his eyes.

It his smile that prompts him to bring it up now. There really was no better time.

He does not release his hand as they stand up. Instead, he reaches forward with his other hand and takes Christophe’s other hand in his own, standing in front of him with gentle eyes. “You do realize,” he presses, “that I...meant what I said, correct?”

#################################################################

His smile falters as he finds both his hands being held by paler hands roughly the same size as his own. His grip was firm and warm and gravity started to tug down on him just a bit more than usual all over again. The smile fades completely at his words, and for a few moments, as the notion that Gregory could’ve meant everything that he had just told him a few moments ago sinks in, the world seems to stop in place.

It’s what he’s always wanted. And to heaven and hell, he wanted it so badly. From the moment he made that promise when they were but children leaving grade school, to the moment he pledged himself to him officially as they entered high school, to the moment he was sworn into this Academy as they continued their education further, he has wanted to be at his side, not just as a servant devoted to him completely, but as an equal. And even more than that. He wanted those sensations that came over him--that he’ll never be good enough, that Gregory was a god among men, that there was hardly a flaw he could find in the man--to take Gregory by storm and do to him all they have done to Christophe.

And yet now that his wish is being granted, as the dream that he has had for almost a decade becomes a reality, as the possibilities for the future stretch on endlessly, he hesitates. He hesitates because it just seems too much to be true. He can’t...he can’t mean it. It just couldn’t be true. He had accepted years ago that all of his efforts to convince Gregory to realize that he was right beside him would be in vain. It couldn’t possibly be changed so easily. One stupid musical number and a kiss wasn’t enough to change that. It wasn’t proof enough.

...Was it?

He glances away from Gregory, unable to look him in the eye, afraid of what he might accidentally discover should he lose himself there again. “I...am trying to conveence myself of zat…” he manages. “Eet...It is a leetle much to take in.”

#################################################################

“Ye of little faith,” the blonde chides with a smile. He gives his hands a gentle squeeze of reassurance all the same. He had no idea how long Christophe has been hiding these feelings for him--be it months or be it years. When his habits became apparent and Christophe’s French began to make more sense of him, he was admittedly concerned with these developments. Such an obsession couldn’t be healthy, and it made him uncomfortable to consider the notion of someone following his every command simply because they were overly fond of them. It took some time to come to terms that Christophe only meant the best. It took more time to realize that perhaps this change had been for the better--that perhaps having such affections had turned his life around and brought him into the light (a thought that he had to think of sparingly, in fear of his ego spiking even further). Words from the brunette’s comrades and fellow servants furthered the truth--Christophe was never quite as happy as he was when Gregory was with him. Gregory had changed his life and he was forever grateful for that. His affections weren’t necessarily unhealthy or concerning or bizarre--they were something that simply was.

And it was only then that the notion of considering Christophe on that level crossed his mind. Surprisingly, he had found it easy to an incredible degree to come to terms to that. He need only take a step back and realize just how much Christophe was to him, how much he had relied on Christophe over the years to be a constant source of solace and wisdom, a companion who he could always rely on to be there when everyone else backed away. Gregory never had to fear how Christophe might perform on any given task; if he asked it, it would be done, and it would be done right. And there had been subtle changes over the years that he has hardly had time to notice until. The depth of his eyes. The way the stubble ever-so-slightly grows out when he is a few days too late to shave. The way his shoulders broadened and his lanky body had filled out. The pride that he carried himself, how he could switch from professional to casual in a matter of moments, and how all of these developments only made him further realize just how attractive this man has grown in so many ways.

There were dozens of other things he could remark on, he was sure. What mattered was not that he recount them all, but that he recognize that they were there, and by God, they must be recognized.

“Every word if it, Christophe,” he adds. “I meant every word.”

#################################################################

Every word of it.

It still doesn’t fully impact Christophe. It’s a concept he just is unable to wrap his head around. Apollo, come down from the heavens in mortal form, somehow manages to return the feelings of a mole beneath his feet. All those phrases he had said--getting lost in his eyes, calling him charming and perfect, claiming that he has stolen Gregory’s heart--could he have truly meant all of them?

He seems to stand up a little straighter, holding his breath as he speaks, his excitement all-too-evident. “Really…?” he dares ask in a voice far too timid to be his own.

#################################################################

He is about to nod, only to hesitate. It was true that he had meant many of the things he said. And yet...

“Well...nearly everything,” he admits slowly. “I...I am not sure if I am prepared to admit that I love you to myself, let alone to you.”

#################################################################

There it is. There’s the catch. He feels himself wilt a little, though another smile stretches across his face with relative ease. It was a start, it was a fantastic start. There was nothing wrong with his prince not prepared to commit to something like that. He was grateful, really, beyond grateful, that at the very least there was something there. At the same time, his hopes had been raised up, only to be dashed a great deal in a heartbeat.

He’d easily get over it.

“Ah,” he remarks. “That ees alright. I understand.”

#################################################################

It is only now that the bluntness of his words hits him in full. He shakes his head. No, that’s not what he meant. There were feelings there, feeling for Christophe just waiting to be explored and discovered. He just needed time…

“O-Of course, I do not mean I have no interested at all,” he adds quickly, sensing Christophe’s own disappointment. “I could very well come to care for you on that level, if you would only give me the chance to prove it.”

No. This wasn’t how he wanted to tell him. This isn’t how he had intended to explain his feelings. He was too formal, too curt, too matter-of-fact. Why had it been so early to let everything out just minutes before and yet it was impossible now? Get a grip, Yardale, you need to get this right.

He takes a deep breath, and brings their hands up and giving them another squeeze. “I...do have feelings for you,” he murmurs at last. “Please, give me a chance.”

#################################################################

Christophe leans away from him at first, taken aback by his sudden replies and pleads. It is only when he officially asks to be given a chance does he straighten up again.

There it was. There was the confirmation that something was there. However small, however insignificant, however big, however much potential it did or did not have, it was there. After waiting almost a decade, he finally was given his chance. As if there was even a question of whether or not he would give Gregory a chance. He believes he’s made it abundantly clear.

He smirks at him, and steps just a little bit closer to him. “Monsieur, I am ze one who should be askeeng that of you.”

#################################################################

Gregory blinks at him, only to smirk in response. He wasn’t sure why he’s suddenly filled with this surge of relief. Honestly, he knew what his answer was going to be. How could he not? And yet even still...It was good to hear. Could he possibly even take it a step further, he wonders? If he just gave a little push...

“Well, then, Monsieur DeLorne,” he says, his usual charismatic grin decorating his face once again. “Why don’t you? Get the formalities out of the way early on.”

#################################################################

The slight surge of confidence that he had fades quickly at his words. He frowns again, his eyes widening. He wasn’t expecting him to suddenly turn around like that. Gregory was, unfortunately, full of surprises. The idea was nerve-wracking for reasons it shouldn’t be. Even with a guarantee that Gregory will accept his invitation, he wasn’t certain whether he would actually say “yes”. This really was getting out of hand.

He closes his eyes for a moment, looking for the right words and searching for that confidence he had just gained. Finally, he opens them and looks Gregory right in the eye, standing himself up as tall as he can despite the fact that his own words make him feel so small and vulnerable.

“Puis-je poursuivre vos affections, Gregory Yardale?”

_May I pursue your affections, Gregory Yardale?_

#################################################################

He smirks at his use of French. Trying one more time to throw him off? One last attempt to pretend the entire thing was a game? Or perhaps he simply felt more sincere in his native tongue? Either way, the language of romance rolls off his tongue just as flawlessly as it had when he had strung together the notes and phrases of the evening. Gregory is just as enchanted by his voice as he is now.

It takes him a few moments to find the right words to reply. But when he does, he gives Christophe’s hands a final squeeze and speaks clearly with pride.

“Je n'aimerais rien de plus, Christophe DeLorne.”

_I would love nothing more, Christophe DeLorne._

#################################################################

The grin that stretches across his face hurts his cheeks, it is so wide. Overwhelmed with relief and adoration, his hands suddenly release Gregory’s and fly up to his face, gripping it with every intent to bring their lips together again. Just before he can lean in, he seems to remember himself, freezing in place.

“Ah...J-Je suis désolé…” he murmurs, and loosens his grip, keeping the space between them and giving the man a guilty look.

#################################################################

He jumps at Christophe’s sudden actions, his face suddenly embraced with a pair of hands warmed by his own. When Christophe hesitates yet again, he rolls his eyes with yet another smirk, and brings his arms around his shoulders, pulling himself closer. “I’m almost certain we just established that we are courting one another,” he teases, switching back to his native tongue. “Go for it.”

#################################################################

He tenses at his words, as if he still isn’t sure as if he can believe Gregory. This was all some sort of surreal experience, and no matter how many times he pinches himself or bites his tongue, he’s not sure how long it will be before he can convince himself that this isn’t a dream. For all he knows he’s going to lean in to his lips and jolt himself awake. Does he really want to risk that?

“Ah, well…” he says, still unsure about it. “Don’t we ‘ave to get leaveeng soon…?”

#################################################################

“I think,” Gregory murmurs, stepping even closer, his eyes half-lidded and a light tinge of pink on his face, “we can afford to put that off for just a bit longer.”

He has been waiting weeks for a moment like this. Christophe must have been waiting eons longer than that. He wouldn’t mind remaining right where they were for a few more minutes if they felt the need to make up for lost time.

#################################################################

Christophe looks like he might just insist that they leave now, or simply let the silence stretch on further. But at this point, Christophe feels as though he hardly needs to be told twice. Or, well, any more than twice. Second time was the charm, right?

Either way, Gregory doesn’t get another moment to react before Christophe’s hands are wrapped around his face again and his lips are pressed against the other man’s properly this time.

Finally.

#################################################################

Much better.

Their first kiss had been exhilarating and enlightening. But with the brunette’s lips properly pressed against his own, it was twice that. It was passion and bliss in its purest, clearest form. His eyes close and he pulls himself closer, bringing up a hand to run his fingers through the coarse hair covering his partner’s head.

#################################################################

Christophe’s heart hammers in his chest to the extent that he fears his legs will properly give out on him and he’ll fall right through the floor. As it is, he keeps one hand on Gregory’s cheek while the other wraps around his waist. All that waiting, all those years of serving him, all the build-up of the evening...it had been worth every moment of it. It had been worth it simply to be allowed to stay by his side and serve him. Now, it was tenfold.

And now, he finally had the chance to get Gregory Yardale to fall in love with him. The most daunting task that Gregory has given him yet, but one he finds himself eager to complete.

#################################################################

The evening, by no means, ended there. One kiss would turn into two, and then four, and then several more, with breaks and pauses now and then for a small bout of conversation or just a moment to look into each other’s eyes and laugh. Both of them would expect the sickening lovey-dovey feeling to fade as the night progresses and yet it never does. Neither of them could really complain. There’d be one point where Gregory took him by the waist and began swaying him back and forth, and before long the two were waltzing around the room to the sound of their own heartbeats. Christophe would lead him to the staircase where they sat down and just talked for hours. Christophe quizzed him on terms he might need to know for the test, because there had to be some form of practicality to the evening. It was a good thing he remembered, because Gregory seemed to have forgotten. In fact, rather than focusing, Gregory instead coaxed the Frenchman to admit his feelings one more time, just for the sake of hearing the phrase come from his lips. The words escaped Christophe’s lips hesitantly, still afraid of a negative reaction. Gregory’s heart had fluttered weakly and he had taken the other man’s face in his hands and kissed him on both cheeks and reassured him it was fine. It was too much for Christophe. He had to have his lips again--and then again.

It would only be when the lights shut off for good for the night that they’d both realize they really do need to get going. They’d jump as the shutdown made a loud, startling sound, signalling that it was midnight, and then laugh at how quickly they lost track of time. They had to stumble around in nothing but pale moonlight for almost ten minutes searching for the keys that Christophe had so carelessly dropped. Gregory would leave this hallway behind but not without Christophe’s hand in his own. And beyond that, there was so much more that needed to happen. There would be much to discuss as far as dates and kissing and anything further went, how this would fit into their schedules, how their placement in society would affect their relationship, let alone how Christophe would prompt him to fall in love…

But for now, it was simply enough for Gregory to have his lips against Christophe’s, his heart racing despite the fact that they are both frozen in time--if only for a moment. And for that moment, and for the moments following, and for even a few moments after that, everything in the world seemed to be in perfect harmony.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh wow! You made it! Thank you for coming all the way to the end!
> 
> If you had any trouble with the French, or think that I should just include the translation directly in the work, just let me know. If you want to correct my French, PLEASE DO, I AM ENGLISH SPEAKING TRASH.
> 
> I wrote the song / ballad on my own, and I hope it's okay? I know it doesn't rhyme, but I hope you got a basic rhythm or something out of it.
> 
> Thank you, thank you for reading! Please, if you could, leave a comment or a kudos, let me know how you liked it, and let me know if this is a project you'd like to see me continue!
> 
> ~EDYM


End file.
